Will
by OneWhoTurns
Summary: [One Shot] "If I told you to leave, Emily…" His voice was slow and detached, and when she lifted her eyes to his she found his gaze even and piercing. "…Would you?" As always, the question was asked not with urgency but with curiosity. "Would you run?" [a spiritual successor to Heresy, originally posted to tumblr]


Empress Emily Kaldwin was spending her evenings as she often did: working. The desk in her quarters was laden with small stacks of papers, maps, reports and invitations and requests. She only had so many hours in the day, but she did her best. It was exhausting, but she owed it to her people.

She let out a heavy sigh, rubbing dry eyes as she set aside the most recent report from the spies in Tyvia. More rebellion. The cold wastes teemed with an angry populous easily swayed by sweet words from deposed princes. Tyvia was far from Dunwall - never an immediate threat to her safety, by any means - but that didn't lessen Emily's twinge of discomfort with each consecutive report. Her mind (a little too imaginative for her own good, ever since she was a child) drifted with unbidden thoughts.

What if the Citadel fell? Tyvia had governed itself for ages, peacefully keeping to themselves, but if some new monarchy seized power… And Morely, just to the east? A cunning ruler would take advantage of old wounds, swaying the isle to their side. Would a power-hungry Tyvian monarchy cross the water and march on Gristol?

She shook her head, running a hand back through her hair as if she might pull away the thoughts that ran rampant through her mind.

No, things had been on good terms with Morely recently. And there were always reports of attempts at revolution in Tyvia, but none had come close to succeeding. It was her damn imagination, acting up again.

She stretched her arms free of stiffness, rubbed the back of her gloved left hand absently, toyed with the bracelet on her wrist. Gradually her brow smoothed, her worries tucked away again.

She felt him before she saw him - felt the pressure of worlds colliding, smelled the metallic ozone of merging realities. Ignoring him for the time being, she straightened the things on her desk before turning in her chair.

He was sitting on the back of her sofa, legs crossed, his back against one of the many bookshelves that lined that particular wall of her quarters. For a moment she thought to chide him for putting his feet on the furniture, but she quickly thought better of it. What was etiquette to a god?

The Outsider's hands fiddled with one of the pretty trinkets she kept on that particular shelf - a clear glass orb, filled with flecks of multicolored glass that would cast vibrant rainbows when held to the sun. One of the few "pretty" things she kept at all. In his hands it floated - not by magic, but by a calm dexterity that patiently ushered the orb over fingers, down a palm, curving over a wrist, onto the back of a hand… Or maybe it _was_ magic. The longer she watched, the harder it was to tell.

"If I told you to leave, Emily..." His voice was slow and detached, and when she lifted her eyes to his she found his gaze even and piercing. "...Would you?" As always, the question was asked not with urgency but with curiosity. "Would you run?"

Emily kept her face still despite the sudden lurching of her gut. Eyes leveled on the Outsider, she spoke very carefully. "Why are you telling me this?" Had her worries over Tyvia been justified? Was Gristol in danger? Her features were schooled into an unreadable mask as the questions flickered through her mind.

"I'm not telling, Empress, I'm asking." He looked away just briefly as he set the orb back on the shelf, then turned his full attention back to her - legs uncrossed, leaning forward as his empty eyes caught hers. "If I - if anyone - were to tell you that _now is the time to flee_ ," his words made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, "would you?"

She was silent. She didn't like this line of questioning. Her silence didn't seem to put him off. He kept the same unwavering gaze, patient, as though he had all the time in the world. And of course, he did. But did she? She found herself stepping closer, her voice low and stronger than she truly felt. "What aren't you telling me?"

He matched her movements, disappearing from the couch and reappearing no more than two steps away, unfazed by her intimidating stare. His query was acerbic: "Would you turn tail and run away, leaving your little empire?"

It was his wording that did it. She scowled. The icy fear that had begun sweeping through her veins at his questions now sparked into a rapidly heating defiance. She took another step toward him, their eyes level as she held her head high. "I will never flee." Her words were a willful growl, her skin flushing with growing anger. "If I run it will be straight to the heart of the enemy, with fire in my soul and their blood on my hands."

Despite the burning in her gaze, he remained calm. Almost amused. Continually fascinated. And he moved another half-step closer.

Emily stiffened as he raised a hand toward her, her muscles seizing up as his hand touched her cheek - cool, soft, and humming with the echoes of the Void.

"Such loyalty to a country that has time and time again lashed out at you."

He was doing it again. Staring straight into her. The inky black of his eyes reflected things she wished she couldn't see. Terrible things. Beautiful things. Her wildest dreams and her darkest nightmares. Desire, anger, fear, ecstasy - all of it pouring through her, yet leaving her empty. She hated it. She'd do anything for it to never end. This was the call of the Void.

"Slander, rebellion, treason - how many have spat on your name, yet you still stand by them."

Her heart ached and she couldn't figure out why. Her pulse was rushing in her ears as she tried to gather thoughts from the corners of a mind that had been ripped apart by the storm of the Void. "...As long as there have been rulers there has been disunity between rulers and ruled." Her voice was quieter than she'd intended. A murmur, really. She blinked several times, resisting the pull of the Void but refusing to back down. His hand on her face made her skin hot. His mere presence was overwhelming. "There are always a few bad seeds."

"'A few bad seeds.'" The Outsider repeated her words with no inflection. "Emily Kaldwin..." He turned his gaze away, shaking his head wryly, and she finally felt her breath return.

In a moment of clarity she grabbed his wrist - the Mark on her hand pumping whale song through her veins - and pushed it aside.

He pivoted with her, taking the smallest step forward so that he might brush his lips against her ear, his breath all echoes: "You till a salted field."

And he was gone. Leaving the strongest woman in the Empire trembling in his absence.


End file.
